Sorry
by LexusGrey
Summary: Quinn and Santana fight. It goes further than usual, and Q ends up with hurt feelings. Santana agrees to let Quinn try to make her sorry.  Warnings: spanking D


"Stop looking at me like that."

Quinn quirked an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Santana didn't answer. She just went back to cheating on her history test. And a few minutes later, she slammed her palm down on her desk and snapped her gaze to Quinn again. "I said fucking stop it!" she yelled, garnering the attention of the teacher and the rest of the class.

"What the hell!" Quinn hissed, eyes wide.

"Is there a problem, girls?" the teacher asked, looking over her spectacles at them. "No talking during tests, you know that. Both of you are excused, you may re-take the test after school."

Both of them just stared at the teacher for a few seconds, trying to process what had just happened, and then the shit hit the fan when the girls hit the hallway. They were both talking at once.

"Now look what you did-" 

"This is just great!-"

"-you fucking moron!"

"-My parents are going to think I cheated, because of you."

Pause.

"Did you just call me a fucking moron?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Gee, look who's so smart she doesn't have to cheat anymore."

"I have never cheated, Santana, and you know that! Now people are going to think that I can't handle school and a pregnancy at the same time. They're gonna think I can't focus enough to study, and so I put pregnancy first and school second."

"If you DON'T put pregnancy first then you shouldn't have gotten pregnant," Santana snapped.

"Because I MEANT to get pregnant?" Quinn shrieked, dropping her books on the floor and shoving Santana into a row of lockers.

Santana dropped hers too, but not quick enough, and she hit the lockers with a grunt of pain. "Maybe if you weren't such a whore, you wouldn't have GOTTEN pregnant," she snarled, and her eyes went wide as she had to duck Quinn's fist. When she straightened up, her eyes narrowed, and she threw a punch of her own. If Quinn wanted to fight dirty, she could fight dirty. Her fist connected with the side of Quinn's face, and she barely had time to be satisfied before the blonde was on her, like really ON her, and she fell down with Quinn on top of her, clawing and pulling her hair, and knees were going everywhere, one in the stomach knocking the wind out of her. "Get off of me, you fucking crazy bitch!" she screamed, afraid to fight back in this position because she didn't want to hurt the baby.

Quinn wasn't sure exactly what had come over her, but maybe being called a whore made her snap. Santana deserved to have her ass kicked for that. She wasn't a whore! She'd only slept with Puck just the once, and... and she regretted it all the time. Santana was the whore, she slept with anyone, any time, anywhere! And she never got pregnant. It wasn't fair. Why did the odds decide to pick on a good girl like her, and let a bitch like Santana off the hook?

The next thing Santana knew, Quinn had slid off of her and was on her knees, doubled over forward, sobbing. What? "Jesus, Quinn, you almost scratched my face off!" she yelled, feeling the trickle of blood down her cheek. Quinn didn't answer, though, she just kept crying. "What's wrong with you?" she asked, pushing up onto her elbows, then slowly sitting up.

"I'm not a whore," Quinn whispered, putting her hands over her face.

"Oh come ON," Santana scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Get over it. We call each other names all the time." This was starting to get uncomfortable. The punching was off-routine enough, but she could deal with that. Quinn crying and shit? Not so much. "Your pregnancy hormones are making me feel weird. So stop it."

"It's not my pregnancy hormones," Quinn said, still whispering. "I'm a good girl, I am." She sniffed a few more tears away, wiping her face with her sweater sleeve, and rested her chin on her drawn-up knees. "I hate what people think of me. I didn't know you thought the same."

"Why do you care what I think?" Santana asked, deliberately not mentioning that she didn't really think Quinn was a whore.

Quinn got to her feet and stared hard down at Santana. "You figure it out," she finally said, and walked away.

So maybe she had to cheat on her history test, but she never needed to cheat on social cues. And the implication of what Quinn just said hit her harder than that knee to her stomach. Seriously? She had THAT kind of chance with Quinn? And she'd probably just blown it before she even knew she was having it? Headache. "Hey!" she called, jumping to her feet and sprinting after Quinn. "You like me?" She tried to smile, but not having sincerely done that in ages, it came out as a smirk.

"I DID like you," Quinn corrected, emphasis on the 'did'. "Now I don't. Go away."

"That's not fair," Santana burst out after trying to come up with something better to say and failing. "You can't stop liking someone until you at least fuck them once."

"Yeah well there's no way I'm going to fuck you after you called me a whore."

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you?"

"No..."

Quinn smirked. "Will you let me try to make you sorry?"

"What does that even mean?"

"After our make-up history test, meet me at my house and you'll find out."

Obviously, Santana Lopez wasn't going to turn down a challenge. Even if the challenge seemed potentially really bad for her. So she showed up at Quinn's door a few minutes after Quinn got there herself, and knocked. Her palms were sweating a little but she wasn't nervous. At least she didn't think she was nervous. She didn't feel nervous, anyway. But when Quinn answered the door in black leather pants? She got nervous. "What the f-"

Quinn grabbed her arm and dragged her inside. "Do you think I want the whole neighborhood looking in on what we're doing?" she asked, slamming the door behind them.

"Why are you wearing leather pants?"

"Shut up and go upstairs."

Out of her element for the first time she could remember, Santana just... shut up and went upstairs.

Quinn smirked and followed her up, and once they were locked safely inside her bedroom, she stood leaning against the door with her arms crossed over her chest. "One, two, or three?"

"What?"

"One, two, or three?" Quinn repeated.

"How am I supposed to pick one when I don't even know what I'm-"

"You don't learn fast, do you? One. Two. Or three?"

"Fine! You're fucking crazy. Two."

Quinn smirked again, disappeared into her bathroom, and reappeared holding her hairbrush.

As soon as Santana saw it, her eyes went wide. "No fucking way." She knew what Quinn was going to do with that thing. She was no stranger to ass-whoopins. Of course it had been, what, eight years or something, but back then, Mama Lopez did not mess around with a hairbrush.

Quinn shrugged. "Okay," she said.

"Really?"

"Yep. There's the door."

Santana actually whined. She WHINED. "That's not _fair_."

"A whore, Santana. You called me a whore. And you're not sorry. So either get yourself bent over my bed with your skirt up, or get the fuck out of my house."

It was actually a toss-up. Santana really, really, really did not want to feel that hairbrush. But she also really, really, really wanted a chance to have sex with Quinn. She was tough, wasn't she? She could take it, she was older now, not a sensitive little kid, and there was something in it for her this time. "And if I let you go caveman on me, I'll get to fuck you after?"

"No!" Quinn said, trying to keep her irritation under control, but Santana could try the patience of a saint sometimes. She took a breath, not wanting to get ahead of herself, and then continued calmly, "no. There are no guarantees."

"Then why should I do it?"

"I can't answer that question for you." As much as I'd like to.

Santana glared, and, feeling stupid for making such a big deal about it, she finally rolled her eyes and flopped over Quinn's bed.

"Skirt," Quinn said succinctly.

An exasperated noise, and Santana flipped up her skirt.

"Panties."

"You didn't say anything about my panties." Her hands remained on the bed. "You can't just make up new rules because you were so stupid-fried that you forgot to add them before."

"There are no rules, Santana, because this is not a game. You do what I say, or you get out. My patience is wearing thin, and if you talk back to me one more time, you'll regret it even more than you're already going to. Now pull down your fucking panties."

Santana opened her mouth to cuss Quinn out, but lost her breath when she looked into smoldering green eyes that meant _business_. Shaking hands moved slowly to the waistband of her underwear, and pushed them down to her knees.

"Thank you," Quinn said, as if she had been waiting for hours, and gave Santana a smile. Genuine, but slightly evil. And she sat on the edge of the bed, patting her thighs. "Now put yourself over my lap." At Santana's grin, her face hardened. "If your hands go anywhere but where I tell you they can go..."

Santana's grin turned into a scowl, and she moved until she was across Quinn's lap.

"Did I say you could let your skirt fall back down?" Quinn asked.

"Oh please," Santana scoffed, blindly reaching one arm behind her to yank the skirt up again.

"Lose the attitude," Quinn said sharply. "And fold your hands under your head."

Santana bit her cheek to keep from mouthing off, and folded her hands beneath her head, resting her cheek on them, staring at the wall behind the bed. This was so lame, seriously.

Quinn took a moment to appreciate the sight and feel of Santana across her lap, and then laid the hairbrush on Santana's backside. If they were girlfriends, and this was a punishment for something less offensive, she'd start with her hand and work up to the brush. But they weren't, and it wasn't, and she wouldn't. From the first smack, she put strength and precision into it, landing the hairbrush with a firm, loud CRACK across the middle of Santana's ass.

Santana's eyes flew open wide, and she threw her head back, pushing up onto her hands with a loud cry. "MotherFUCKER, que haces, estas loca? Dios Mio, pinche-"

"Shut up, Santana," Quinn said smoothly, landing another sharp crack, and another immediately following. She had to wrap her left hand in Santana's hair to hold her down.

Santana was still cussing in spanish, just doing it under her breath now, clenching her cheeks against the assault. It hurt just as much as she remembered. It stung, and burned, and ached, and Quinn just kept going! Every smack lit her ass on fire all over again, and she felt the horrible, telltale sign that she was about to cry - her eyes welled up and she choked on a sob. Suddenly she felt like she was ten years old, over Mama Lopez's lap after she'd been caught stealing chips from the corner store down the street from their house. Only this time she'd done something worse. She'd called one of her best friends a whore. And just to be a bitch. She hadn't even meant it. She'd wanted to hurt Quinn, because she was a selfish, nasty little bitch. Her, not Quinn. Santana Lopez. And she deserved what she was getting. Whether she got to have sex with Quinn after or not, she deserved what she was getting.

Quinn paused when she heard the strangled sob, surprised, actually. She hadn't really thought Santana would break. Not that she doubted her ability to discipline, but this was Santana. She'd expected to be here all day with no results. They were only five minutes in and Santana was CRYING? And mumbling something in spanish. "I thought I told you to shut up," she said icily, giving a tug on the girl's hair.

Santana realized she'd been apologizing in spanish, and maybe Quinn didn't understand. "I was saying I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm sorry, please..."

Quinn laughed. "I think you're just saying that because your ass hurts. Aren't you?"

"I'm a lot of things, but not a liar," Santana managed to get out through her tears. "I'm sorry... I wanted to hurt you. I didn't mean what I said. I'm the whore, not you."

Quinn stopped laughing and gave her a stinging blow to each of her thighs. "YOU are not a whore either, Santana," she said calmly. "I don't want to hear that word out of your mouth again, do you understand?"

"Not even about Rachel Berry?" Santana gasped, her mouth dropping open, guilt forgotten for the moment.

Quinn pulled her lips into a tight line, closed her eyes, and exhaled. "Not even about Rachel Berry," she decided grudgingly. Another smack. "Do you understand?"

A whine, a whimper, and a nod. "Yes, yes," Santana promised. "Please..."

"Please what?"

"Please stop... it really fucking hurts," she whispered.

"I don't know, Santana. I don't know if you're really sorry. Maybe you should stand in the corner for awhile and think about what you want to say to me, to make me believe you're sorry."

"I'm not standing in the fucking corner," Santana said, incredulous, turning her head to look at Quinn over her shoulder.

Quinn's brows furrowed and she laid into Santana again, landing smack after smack to her bright red backside and thighs, until the crying girl started kicking.

"I'll go! I'll go, I'm sorry, chinga tu madre en la cabeza, basta!"

Quinn's eyes widened. "Did you just say fuck my mother?" That phrase she knew.

Santana froze, tears streaming down her face, and buried her head in one of Quinn's pillows. "I didn't mean it about YOUR mother," she cried, anticipating having the shit beat out of her for that one. But Quinn surprised her.

"Get out of the rest of your clothes and get your body into that corner, now," the blonde ordered darkly, and was satisfied when Santana scrambled to obey.

Santana stripped naked and stood in the corner Quinn pointed at, crossing her arms protectively over her chest, though she was facing the wall. It was a little cold, and she shivered, not realizing how lonely she could be until she felt so alone.

Quinn took the time to breathe, and put the hairbrush away. She let Santana stand there for twenty minutes at least, and was impressed, to be honest, that the girl didn't move a muscle the entire time, or open her mouth to complain. Finally, she sat on the edge of the bed again and spoke. "Come here."

Santana sniffled and blushed bright red as she turned and walked to stand in front of Quinn. Naked. Not that she was a stranger to being naked, but this was different. They weren't having sex, and Quinn was still wearing everything. It made her feel on display, and she didn't like it very much. But she knew... she deserved it.

Quinn reached one hand up and drew a fingertip down Santana's stomach, watching it quiver beneath her touch. "Are you sorry?" she whispered.

Santana's knees threatened to give out, and she gasped quietly. "Yes."

Quinn decided to push her luck, and trailed her finger through the finely trimmed hair between Santana's legs. "Yes what?"

"Dios," Santana breathed, covering her face with her hands. "Yes I'm sorry."

"Try again," Quinn said with a sultry smile, dipping her finger lower and circling it around Santana's clit.

Santana's heart started fluttering, and her throat was almost too dry to answer. "I don't know what," she tried, shaking her head. "What am I supposed to say?"

Quinn purred, rubbing softly before slipping one finger into Santana. She stood up and put her mouth against Santana's ear. "You're supposed to say 'yes Ma'am'."

Santana's breath left her and she closed her eyes, her voice shaking as she tried to stay standing. No one had ever teased her like this, had ever worked her up to the point of begging. Quinn had barely touched her, and she was ready to be on her knees if it meant she'd be allowed a firmer touch. "Yes, yes Ma'am," she choked out, trying to figure out something acceptable to do with her hands. She settled for folding them behind her back. "Please," she begged, unable to believe the words coming out of her mouth, and yet... they were.

Quinn didn't think she'd ever been as wet as when Santana called her 'Ma'am' and said 'please'. She slipped another finger into her and curled them both, rubbing against the ridged g-spot that felt so good inside herself. Santana's answering moan was the best reward she could ask for. "Are you sorry?" she asked again, her lips grazing Santana's ear.

Santana wasn't the smartest girl at McKinley, but she learned fast enough not to repeat a mistake. "Yes Ma'am," she said instantly, her head slumping forward onto Quinn's shoulder. She couldn't stay standing up straight anymore.

"Very good," Quinn said, guiding the shaking girl to lay on her back on the bed, without removing her fingers. She had a hold good enough to maneuver with Santana, and she pressed her thumb to Santana's clit, just as she pressed her lips to Santana's mouth.

Santana didn't hold back, not after the things Quinn had done to her. The things Quinn was doing to her. She moaned when it felt good, and cried out when it felt really good, and came undone when it felt too good, her hips bucking against Quinn's fingers, thighs tightening around the blonde's wrist, Quinn's name drawn from her lips as she arched her back and went all the way.

Quinn purred her satisfaction, withdrawing her fingers and allowing Santana to lick them clean before she lay on top of the other girl, held up on her elbows, both hands stroking hair back from Santana's face. "I expect you to be here when we wake up," she murmured, her eyelids heavy with post-coital bliss. Even though she hadn't come, her body was still alight with pleasure, and her wrist ached with the effort of bringing Santana off. She was tired.

Santana mumbled something in the affirmative, her own eyes already closed, her breathing changing as she shifted into sleep. She had no intention of going anywhere. Not right away.


End file.
